


Between You and I

by PuppetRhymes



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Spoilers for Arrow 4x01, Spoilers for The Flash 2x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetRhymes/pseuds/PuppetRhymes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing before the fresh grave, the last thing Oliver expected was to be comforted by his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between You and I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SwiftEmera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/gifts).



> Birthday fic for my platonic wife, Amie! HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LOVE YOU. You can find me [[here]](http://empty-puppet.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.  
> Title = Between You and I by Every Avenue.

The service had ended over an hour ago, yet he’s still here. Standing alone by the fresh grave, eyes glued to the headstone and heart heavier than he can ever remember it being. Oliver would like nothing more than to just… give up, let himself breakdown here, where nobody can see it.

It’s taking of his waning willpower to hold back the floodgates, keep a control on the anger and thirst for revenge he so desperately wants to indulge. But there’s that familiar voice in the back of his mind reminding him that _they_ wouldn’t want that. Wouldn’t want Oliver to seek revenge for their sake.

 

Then again, they were always Oliver’s better half. And now that better half is buried six feet under a granite headstone.

 

The stricken man hears somebody approach long before he sees them, their footsteps muffled by the tended grass. Oliver spares a quick glance as the new arrival comes to a stop beside him, though he’s almost positive he knows who it is by their presence alone.

It’s Barry, of _course_ it is, because nobody else has the heart to deal with him other than his boyfriend. Not now, when they’re all grieving. To many, seeing Oliver merely reminds them what they lost, reminds them how they _failed_ , how _Oliver_ failed and his stomach twists at the thought.

 

 _It’s my fault_.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral.” In any other situation, Oliver would have given a small chuckle at the younger man’s inability to arrive anywhere on time. Barry’s tardiness was consistent if nothing else, at least. Instead, the older man says:

 

“Zoom?” Oliver bounces on the balls of his feet, gaze darting between the carved stone and the speedster. He isn’t sure why he asks, it was more of an automatic reaction than a question he expects any sort of answer to. Because he _knows_ just what Zoom has done, how much damage and fear he’s struck into the hearts of Central City’s inhabitants, especially Barry.  
Couldn’t forget it if he tried, unwanted flashes of memories of Barry beaten and bloodied and unresponsive, completely at Zoom’s mercy being dredged up from the deepest, darkest part of his mind.

 

Barry seems to sense that it’s a rhetorical question, not offering Oliver the answer he already knows.

 

“There was a time when I thought this was my fault,” Barry tears his eyes away from the upturned soil, turning his head to watch his boyfriend carefully as he speaks, biting his tongue to hold back his protests. “That I bought this… darkness upon us. Now I know it’s not my fault.”

Oliver’s face twists into an ugly half-snarl, blue eyes darkened with the maelstrom of emotion that lingers _just_ under the surface. “It’s my responsibility.”

  
“Responsibility…” Barry shakes his head minutely, not fully comprehending what the older vigilante is getting at. His gut twists at the expression on Oliver’s face, dreading the implications of the unusually hateful look. “To do what?”

 

“To end it.” Oliver says simply, lips still down turned. He’s acutely aware of Barry’s disapproval, can almost sense the younger man’s need to argue his point, so he can’t give Barry the chance.  


He’s made up his mind, and nothing _anybody_ says or does will change it. Not even Barry.

 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Is there anything I can do?” That surprises the older man - he’d convinced himself fully that Barry would say something, anything to try and turn him off his self-imposed path of vengeance. And, really, that’s all it is at this point.

 

Oliver isn’t going to kill the man – the _monster_ – for himself, or for justice or even for whatever twisted morals he’s formed for himself as his time as The Arrow.

  
No, what he’s going to do is nothing more than vengeance. It’s Oliver seeking one life for the loss of another, this is the vigilante’s ruthless endeavour to try and make up for the snuffing out of a light that shone so bright he was sure it would continue burning for decades to come.

 

“I want to be left alone.” He sounds so broken and defeated even to his _own_ ears, he can only imagine what he must sound like to Barry. The speedster’s expression is one of open concern and empathy as he turns away, caught in his own internal dilemma of _should he stay or leave?_ Because it’s clear Oliver needs somebody right now; it’s always been in the man’s nature to deal with grief in his own lone wolf way, but it just doesn’t feel quite the same as times prior.

So instead of leaving in a flurry of wind and a streak of yellow lightning, Barry stays.

 

Oliver makes no comment on Barry’s reluctance to leave, sinking to a crouch by the grave site, the pads of his fingers dragging over the coarse stone and chest tightening. The emotions the vigilante has tried so hard to control hit him again with the force akin to a semi-truck. No amount of willpower could stop the choked sob that crawls up his throat, nor prevent the overflow of tears that are already beginning to pour down his cheeks.

 

Dropping his head, Oliver rests his chin against his chest as his shoulders shaking with the sobs he suppresses. It feels as if his grief has swallowed him whole, now that he’s finally letting himself _feel_ his world is crumbling underneath him and there isn’t any stable ground to stop him from falling.

Lost in himself, he barely has the mind to notice the thin arms that have wrapped themselves over his shoulders, the light weight of the body behind him.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Oliver manages through his tears, comforted far more by Barry’s gentle embrace than he should be. He’d always called Barry a Guardian Angel – and as of now, the title has never seemed more devastatingly appropriate.

 

Barry sighs as he rests his head against Oliver’s. “It’s not your fault, Ollie.” The kiss he presses to Oliver’s cheek is so brief and light, it’s more of a whisp of wind than a demonstration of affection. The gesture is kind, assuring and oh _so_ bittersweet.

 

If it were anyone other than Barry, Oliver might even call it cruel. A reminder of something he’s lost, something he _didn’t protect_ and Barry deserves _so much better_.

 

“I don’t blame you.”

 

Reaching out, Oliver traces the engraved name carefully as Barry’s soft words reverberate endlessly in his mind. The letters are so simple, clear, nothing but grooves in stone and it doesn’t seem _nearly_ enough for what they represent, who they stand for. But Oliver continues to follow curve of the symbols, the weight on his shoulders gone in a gust of wind and a crackle of lightning.

 

_Bartholomew Henry Allen_

_1989 – 2015_

_Beloved son, friend and hero._


End file.
